


Being Loved

by angelofgrief



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelofgrief/pseuds/angelofgrief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't know love anymore, it's been a long time. But Dorian's there, he's here with him.</p><p>John thinks he knows what love is again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Loved

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the events of episode 12
> 
> PS: I had to write this.

“You wanna go out for drinks?”

He's been in his car ever since he left his seat on the bench. What a depressing way to end his day, really. Then again, he thinks, he's had much **much** worst days before. He starts his car and makes his way towards Rudy's. On the way there, he thinks through what that guy said to him before he fell.

Before he jumped.

_Have you ever been loved, John?_

_I have._

He was telling the truth, of course— his whole life, all he has ever been was loved. By his mother, who perhaps pampered him a little too much; by his father, who taught him baseball and the joys of old-fashioned; by friends who encouraged him and never gave him a second doubt. Even Anna, who betrayed him in the end. But after his coma, after his parents' death, love seemed to be the farthest thing in his heart.

When Dorian came out of the building, he was shaking his head rapidly, blue eyes going wild. John looked at him in confusion as he got in and was about to ask him what was going on when Dorian pushed a hard hand on his chest.

“Drive.”

“Whoa whoa, wait. Why?”

Dorian was going to answer when they both heard rather than saw Rudy coming. He nodded and sped down the road. He hears Dorian say thanks and only grunts in acknowledgment. The road trip was quiet with only the radio turned to minimum volume.

_Then you wouldn't understand._

The walk into the bar just off of Cape Street was clear enough. He walked in with Dorian by his side and took a seat on the far corners of the bar. But he doesn't remember leaving the bar, which is fine, he suppose. Now he's sitting at the steps of a shady apartment with a headache crawling in his brain and the vision of a gecko underwater. He turns to face some stranger next to him (he thinks it's Dorian— it has to be).

“You okay?”

“Ugh god, can't you talk more quietly?”

He grabs his forehead and leans against the steps' concrete railings. He hears a small chuckle from next to him but has too big of a headache to even confirm if it was Dorian. The weather has a light mist surrounding the city and it isn't as chilly as the forecast predicted but he can still see his breath when he breathes. The passing car lights blind him minute by minute and the low whispers of the crowd give him a serene sense of peace.

For once, he feels more at ease than ever in his life.

_We were suppose to be loved._

He feels a hand on top of his shoulder. John blinks and tries to get his inner mind into gear but in the process, he ends up forgetting the hand on his shoulder until it starts talking again.

“Maybe we should get you home, John.”

“W-Why?”

“Why we need to get you home? I can think of an infinite amount of reasons, man.”

He shakes his head but the headache attacks him the minute he does. He slips out a groan and punches the steps underneath him. It doesn't make him bleed, he thinks, but it does hurt a bit. He did punch concrete steps though. He remembers the hand on the shoulder (because it suddenly squeezes him) and tries to shake the hand off.

“I... I-I mean, why did you ask me that? Back at the station? You asked me if there was someone out there for everyone?”

John tries to open his eyes and look at Dorian but he can only managed a small squint before the headlights of a passing car blind him indefinitely. He remembers (as good as his drunken mind can ever remember) how blue Dorian's eyes were. Blue eyes that always seemed to stare at him. That never seem to stop staring.

“Statistically, the probability of everyone finding their intended partner is highly slim, especially taking in the consideration that 3-4 babies are born every second.”

He snorts a bit in his drunken state because thinking through it now, it _does_ seem highly impossible. He completely gives in and leans his entire weight against the concrete railing with a sleepy and goofy smile on his face. He doesn't know why he's smiling but he doesn't want to stop smiling for some reason. In fact, he kind of wants to laugh. The silence slips around them and it's kind and amicable.

“Do you still believe in it?”

“Yeah...” It takes a while for John to answer. He's getting a bit sleepy.

“Do you think there's someone for me out there?”

When he opens his eyes, he's grateful that the cars stopped passing by and the street lights from down the street seem less bright than usual. He looks at Dorian's profile and notices a pensive look on his face as he stares across the street. He's not staring at him now. He turns to look at what he was looking at and sees two smoking teens walking past the deli, laughing and pushing each other around.

“Yeah... I do.”

He catches Dorian turning around to look at him and sees the look of surprise on his face before it's replaced with his 'disco face'. The blue lights dance across his face and the color contrasts his eyes. But they're both blue— for a moment, John doesn't realize what's so different between the blues. Then, he figures it out. Dorian's eyes were similar to the color of the ocean; the lights across his face were some incredibly rare cyan. Eyes that were too human for his synthetic, blue lights. He doesn't realize that he's just straighten his back and staring back at Dorian.

“You're getting tired, man.”

Dorian has a small smirk on his face and John has this sudden urge to wipe it from his mouth. He grabs his arm and starts to lean forward, eyes trained right on his lips. As he comes closer, he sees it move but doesn’t quite catch what it actually says. He thinks he's saying John so he stops, just inches away from Dorian's face. He stares at the slight crease lines around his mouth. They were deceptively human.

“D-... Do you think there's someone out there for me?”

He leans back a bit, more for his sake than Dorian— he feels queasy and it isn't the drinks. John looks up at those incredibly blue eyes and he's never seen his eyes so preserved.

“Yes, John. I think there is someone out there for you.”

“Can it be you?”

He doesn’t realize what's come out of his mouth. Mainly because he didn't think that he'd ever find love again. Because love was always a fragile thing with him. Love had easily took apart his soul while giving him life everlasting. But when Dorian smiles at him and the world around him stopped spinning for just a moment, he thought that maybe he knows what love is again.

The kiss is a small one. John doesn't remember who gave in: it might've been him since he tried initiating it. His lips are smooth and slightly colder than most human lips but they feel... perfect. He feels the smile against his own lips and reaches to grab Dorian's face. He wants to feel more, he wants to devour and be devoured. Dorian stops him with a sly grin and a hand gently caressing his own.

“As for first dates go, I'd say that was mixed signals.”

John glares at Dorian before standing abruptly and throwing up over the concrete railing. He absolutely hates his life and he's going to kill the next person that walks by him or the next car that comes by. He wipes the excess with the sleeve of his jacket and wants to just slide at the steps for the night and knock out until he feels a hand in between his shoulder blades.

“C'mon, let's get you home,”

He looks up and Dorian's there, by his side with eyes that seem to burn of passion. He slings his arm around his neck and uses the bulk of Dorian's body to hoist himself up. He remembers climbing into the car and knocking out in the passenger's side.

When he wakes up, his hungover feels like Satan's tap dancing on his brain. But he also remembers a pair of soft lips on his own. When his vision finally cooperates with him and clears up, he see Dorian smiling softly at him, right by his side. John smiles a bit and reaches out.

Dorian meets him half way.


End file.
